It’s so sad that Bombay never sleeps.
I want to see the city snore. I want to see it take angdai, and snuggle into the night’s arms. I want to see the moon smile at a morning unconcerned with the lingering smell of the previous night. I want to see the lights burn out and shrivel up into a faint memory.
Can a city truly sleep?
imagine a spirit roaming through the streets – crazed, sleepless, thoughburnt. unable to find silence. a spirit like a question unanswered. like a whisper thrown into the night, unheard by anyone. a spectre lost in bloodshot imaginings of what could have been. a figure caught in the storm of electronic gibberish. a web of plastic words splayed through the insomnia of chatscreens.
imagine a shadow sewn together with the crackling teeth of shivering beggars.
imagine the barking of dogs snatching the silence out of night’s embrace. like a barbed wire whip
cracking the shadow to tottering life.
A worm slithering in the cement under Dadar Bridge. hiding from the light. trying to catch some sleep.
That is the spirit of this city.